


Temptation

by Mnojick



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boxing, Case Fic, Cigarette Boy Sherlock, M/M, Nightmares, Sherlock doing detective work, Suicidal Thoughts, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnojick/pseuds/Mnojick
Summary: John Watson returned from the war with a thirst for blood and violence. He gets his fix in underground boxing. Sherlock is candy striper who gets caught up in the world of cruel power and violent determination.





	Temptation

"Out of the way, little one." A man growls as he shoves Sherlock out of his way, causing the boy to stumble back. He would have lost his footing for sure if he wasn't naturally graceful. 

Sherlock fixes the strap of his tray for the twentieth time that evening with a roll of his eyes. It's his first night working at Cameo, an underground boxing club, and he already hates it.

The attendees are all brutes and smell worse than the homeless. For Sherlock, who hates strangers and sanitizes himself even if he just has to brush past a homeless person, this place is an absolute nightmare. 

The crowd is dirty and disgusting, a heaving mass of drunk men who have like nothing more than to say something filthy to him as they try to grab his ass. And those were only the times Sherlock was unable to move due to people pushing at him. Thankfully he's lithe and quick enough he's been able to slip out of most neanderthal's clutches. For every squeeze he's avoided the same four times over. 

His voice is sore from trying to call over the thrumming masses. He can barely think. Best he can do is hold onto Irene as she leads him closer to the stage. 

It's so not his scene but Irene Adler, his fellow candy striper and only friend now adays, swears by the rush places like this can give you. Sherlock's doing his best to stay drug free. 

They slip through large pressing men who smell of beer and smoke and make their way until they have a clear view of the stage. They watch one match that seems to go on forever. When it's over Sherlock tugs on Irene's sleeve. 

"Can we go now? You showed me and I'm left unimpressed."

"Hmm. Just you wait for The Captain." She teases with a wink.

"Who is The Captain?" Sherlock shrugs?

Before she can respond, a drunk man standing next to them whistles. "Oi, The Captain. You don't know him? Ain't never heard a name whispered with more paranoia and fear around here, boy. He's ex-military. Does odd jobs now adays for local mob boss when he's not fighting. 

"And gorgeous to boot." Irene giggles. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes at the two of them when just then he hears the speaker announce the upcoming fighters. The first man Sherlock doesn't even remember his name, but then, The Captain. 

The curly haired boy blinks. And blinks. And continues to blink very rapidly taking in the sight before him. 

For starters, Irene was wrong. Gorgeous is an understatement. He's practically illegally handsome. All broad features on a deeply furrowed face telling of a cold, scary intensity. His body is thickly muscled and extremely broad, and his legs, while being shorter than average are powerfully muscled.

There is something incredibly powerful about him, with his close set eyes and a confident menace to how his big fists clench at his side. menace in his Even strangers could tell there was something powerful about him, from the narrowness in his eyes to the menace in his confidently clenched hands. There was no doubt that he was dangerous and capable.

He was someone packed with so much fury and determination that it was hard to contain. Many drunken nights left him wondering whether it was his blood staining his hands, or someone else’s. But it was all unproven, covered by brothers, lawyers and pay checks. Witnesses silenced and eyes covered. Letting him walk free and unforgiven. As many bodies are laid to rest.

He kept telling himself that tonight would be no different, as he emptied the water bottle over his head. He blinked back the water, letting it dissolve his thoughts and allow him to focus. He could already feel the adrenaline buzzing through his veins as his fingers stung with electricity.

Shrunk in the corner was John. He wasn’t used to the thumping crowded atmosphere, he had been stuck studying and struggling to graduate for the past few years. He was finally allowed to celebrate tonight, and he just wanted to act like an idiot for the night. His best mate who always had the brilliant ideas took charge and filled John up with a keg of beer, then dragged him down the dark alleys and pushed him inside the thick smog.

Everyone in the secluded bar moved around him like glitter, sparkling eyes and gleaming sweat catching the lights. John held onto his friend Jim, not daring to let go and risk getting lost.

An animated voice boomed across the room, “Gather your bearings it’s about to get shaky.” John flinched, clamping a tight hand around Jim’s bicep. The Irish twat laughed, hauling him further through the mass of people.

It was complete chaos as John struggled to stand upright as bodies shoved against him constantly. His head was ringing just from the loud chatter, not to mention the blasting music that drowned out his thoughts. Jim leaned into his ear, trying to tell him something. But the words were getting lost. “What?” John screamed, trying his hardest to understand his friend.

Jim rolled his eyes, moving his hands around the place, before circling his palm and pointing his finger inside. John blushed, quickly covering up Jim’s rude hands. Jim shook his hands away, as he continued to gesture obscenely. John tried to make sense of it, believing it was about having protected sex and not getting too wasted or something. John knew that his friend was just taking the piss, trying to make him embarrassed. John was straighter than anyone else they knew, he was always a gentleman and never took a liking to one-night stands.

Jim on the other hand managed to flirt his way through university, bedding girls weekly and using his quirky Irish accent to wiggle his way around conflicts. It’s hard to stay angry at an Irish saying ‘partner’ the way they do.

The starting bell rung out, sending the crowd into cheers as the lights flickers before an emerging figure. “Ladies and brutes, savages and gents. Welcome to Vince’s ring. Have we got a hell of a night set for you?” The announcer chuckled darkly into the microphone. “We’ve got Angus Rehlim all the way from Exeter. Let’s hope he travels back home in one piece.” There was a sickening chorus of boos surrounding John as he sent Jim an uneasy look. He was returned with a lopsided grin and shrug. “Then… the one all you girls… and guys have been creaming over. We have for you ladies and gentlemen, Sherlock fucking Holmes.”

The ground started shaking from the shouts and cheers, as the crowd jumped closer. The announcer waved his arm behind him, as two figures slipped underneath the railing. John took in the startling difference. There was a massive man, holding about 50kg of muscles on each of his arms. He stared ahead, looking deadly. He had scratches and scars littered over his face. John was pretty certain that he would be the one walking unharmed from this fight.

The second fighter didn’t seem to belong there, he was skinny and younger. He had dark wet curls that framed his boyish face. His chest was bare, showing off his pale skin. He was strong and muscular, yet compared to the mammoth standing next to him, John doubted he would survive.

“Now boys, let’s keep it clean. No teeth, no claws. If you feel like god is calling your name, then raise your hand to surrender.” Both participants nodded in agreement. John leaned up on his toes, trying to catch more of the younger boxer. Only to be shoved back by a bulky guy, downing a beer can. John subtly huddled up closer to Jim, as his friend easily slipped an arm over his shoulders, pulling him closer into his side. John tried to hide the smile that slipped over his lips, this wasn’t the first time that Jim had acted so familiar around him.

Normally after a few drinks Jim was always touchy, he wouldn’t hesitate to curl up against John’s chest to continue rambling about football or whatever topic wouldn’t leave his head. Jim would always make time for John, putting aside his weekly conquers just to watch tv and eat pizza with him.

The crowd cheered, as the bell rung out again. The room seemed tenser, as the two boxers circled around each other, their fists were bound with tape and their feet hopped off the mat. John managed to catch sight of the younger boxer, his hair had gotten wild from moving about. It was sticking up cutely, as his dark eyes remained narrowed on his opponent. He seemed dangerous, the look plastered across his face, was one that John would be terrified to receive.

The first punch was thrown from the larger guy, it was quickly dodged before the younger man counteracted it with rapid hits to his chest. John stared with disbelief at how fast the dark-haired man moved, he was landing punches so quick that the other guy barely had a chance to recover.

So many voices shouted with a mix of encouragement and argument as the fight began. The large man beside John was booing, and waving his hands around angrily. Until the beefy boxer threw a strong punch against Sherlock’s jaw. Jim’s arm tightened around his shoulder, as John flinched at the sight. The dark head of curls snapped back from the hit, as he stumbled away.

-


End file.
